There came a time when Ajor could no longer walk, and then it was
that I picked her up in my arms and carried her. She begged me
to leave her, saying that after I found an exit, I could come back
and get her; but she knew, and she knew that I knew, that if ever
I did leave her, I could never find her again. Yet she insisted.
Barely had I sufficient strength to take a score of steps at a time;
then I would have to sink down and rest for five to ten minutes.
I don't know what force urged me on and kept me going in the face
of an absolute conviction that my efforts were utterly futile. I
counted us already as good as dead; but still I dragged myself
along until the time came that I could no longer rise, but could
only crawl along a few inches at a time, dragging Ajor beside me.
Her sweet voice, now almost inaudible from weakness, implored me
to abandon her and save myself--she seemed to think only of me. Of
course I couldn't have left her there alone, no matter how much I
might have desired to do so; but the fact of the matter was that
I didn't desire to leave her. What I said to her then came very
simply and naturally to my lips. It couldn't very well have been
otherwise, I imagine, for with death so close, I doubt if people
are much inclined to heroics. "I would rather not get out at
all, Ajor," I said to her, "than to get out without you.
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